Mockery At Its Best
by Creepsandfreakshows
Summary: Written for a roleplay. AU/Post-Hogwarts. A series of failed proposals. Rated M for language and strong suggestive material. Grayson Wood/Damien Richards.


Grayson's eyes drooped dangerously, and he could feel his head lolling to the side as if he just couldn't hold it up anymore. And it felt exactly like that, like he was straining to keep himself upright, had been for the past forty-eight hours. The twenty-four prior to that had been a breeze. He was used to sleepless nights.

It was three years since graduation, and Quidditch off season. He still had practise, yes, still had training. Oliver kept him on track more often than not, even though he was an adult and would've done it himself anyway. But Katie had asked him to humour his father, give him something to do, make him feel important. Well, sure. No problem, Katie - just make sure he doesn't interrupt me in the middle of-

"Still awake?" He asked, his words almost slurred, but he had a wicked, if not exhausted, grin on his face as he turned to look at his partner in crime. His best friend. His occasional lover. He's beautiful. So beautiful, and just. Grayson had to take in a deep breath, but that thought, and seeing him there, just a few steps away, was connection enough for his mind to play out ridiculous, nonsensical scenes of hot, dirty filth, bare skin, halted breathing and-

"More awake than you are."

It wasn't fair. He narrowed his eyes, his mind cut off and derailed too quickly to be healthy. His eyes zone in and focus on Damien's foot, slowly letting his gaze travel upwards as he took him in. So fucking gorgeous.

"Stop it."

"Hm?" He blinked groggily. "Mmmnot doing 'nything." His eyes finally caught up with his mind a few seconds later, meeting Damien's eyes with utmost curiosity. What was he doing?

"I can feel your eyes on me. Stop it."

He screwed up his face. What? Why would he stop looking at him? What? He still hadn't listened, face still in place, as he tried to understand. Comprehension was slow in coming thanks to the seventy-two hours of being awake, but even after, well, a really long time, he still hadn't gotten it. "I'ven't done 'nything," he protested, pushing himself up so he was forced almost vertical.

"You're still doing it."

Damien wasn't even fucking looking at him, and he found himself feeling close, so close, to being pissed off. What the fuck? They were fine a few seconds ago. He was fine. Damien was reading and he was daydreaming. It was what they did. His mind was the only place he was allowed to get a little out of control. Besides, if he did anything constructive, he was certain he'd probably fall asleep in the middle of it, try as he might to keep his eyes open.

He narrowed his eyes and glared at the other man until he heard a sigh and saw his mouth twist up in a mocking smirk. "This was your idea."

"You should've told me it was stupid, like you always do and then we wouldn't... I wouldn't be... wait, what are we talking about again?"

"Nothing important."

Grayson hummed in acceptance, nodding his head as he curled up on his side and resumed his visual exploration of Damien's relaxed form. Merlin, he was long. All angles and limbs. At least this time his mind was quiet. Content to let his eyes wander, his finger tips tingling because he knows just how soft the skin on Damien's arms were. How he smelled. How it felt to have his hands on him.

Damien took that moment to look up and catch his gaze, and he must've seen something there in his expression, or the way he was biting on his lower lip, that made him cock his head to the side and arch a brow. "What?"

Grayson grinned. "I'm coming over," he told him, doing just that. It was clumsy work, made easier since he'd already pushed himself up somewhat. He slid into the seat next to him, working his legs over Damien's and curling into his side.

"This isn't going to help you stay awake. You may as well admit defeat and declare me the victor."

"Nuuuuuuuh!" It didn't hold as much objection in it as he normally would've given. He was good at dramatising, making a statement. Damien called him a diva for it. He waited a few moments before he looked up and asked, "What are you reading?"

"A book."

"Read to me."

"No."

Grayson wriggled closer, clearly displeased with Damien's answer. For payback, he stuffed one of his cold hands up his shirt, pressing his fingers firmly against his stomach. He was roughly shoved away, and he fell with a heavy thud onto the floor. Damien was laughing, and he was dazed. "Ugh," he groaned, rolling over and kicking at his leg closest to him. "You know what, fuck you."

"That's all you're thinking about, anyway."

Grayson stilled and rolled his head again so he was looking at him. "Fair enough." He got up once more, but instead of reclaiming his former seat, he pushed the book away and crawled into his lap, leaning against him heavily.

"Grayson." Damien's voice was even. Grayson liked to think it also made him sound dangerous. "Get. Off."

Grayson only held tighter, sliding his arms around him and burying his face into his neck. "Mmmmmake me," he mumbled, sounding slightly muffled.

And Damien did. Or, tried to. He worked his hands between them, palms flat against Grayson's shoulders and shoved, using his elbows as another attempt to dislodge him as he did so. But Grayson wasn't having it, not this time. Falling on the floor hurt. He held on for dear life, and since Damien was fully focusing on getting him the hell off of him, he managed a lopsided smile and leaned backwards, dragging Damien - who was all skin and bones and angles and limbs - easily with his weight. He landed on his back on the couch, and he was not letting go.

"Let go!"

"Lay with me, Richards," he smirked, wriggling himself again, but this time so he could be comfortable and stretched out on the sofa cushions. He refused to give his hold on the other man any slack. Crushing him against him. For added measure, he also wrapped one of his legs around one of Damien's.

"Grayson."

"Just stop fighting it; it'll be good. Comfortable," he batted his lashes at him, and after a few more feeble attempts, Damien finally gave up. He slumped against him, and Grayson loosened his hold slightly to pet his hair for a job well done. Good boy. He did well in fighting him, though, considering they were both half dead to the world. They'd basically challenged each other to an elemenary game of 'Who Can Stay Up The Longest?'. They were going on their fourth day. They were doing a pretty good job.

He closed his eyes momentarily, one arm draped over Damien's back, the other reaching up to pet his hair. This was rare. Didn't happen very often at all. Technically, he wasn't allowed to hold him, kiss him, touch him. Damien Richards was out-of-bounds. Bad.

He had a girlfriend, but she was pushed far out of his mind. He liked Damien's weight on him, liked his length, his narrowness, liked the flop of hair that was in his face and smelled like vanilla and shampoo. Clean. Michelle was small and soft and curved. She was so oddly shaped, and he much rather preferred Damien's frame against him. Preferred it, wanted it, longed for it, sometimes even begged for it.

His touch was soft, light, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He could leave her. Would, if Damien offered himself in return. She meant nothing compared to Damien, time and experience proved it.

He let himself daydream again, finally letting go of Damien as he shifted over him and pressed against his side. This is what he wanted; this specifically. He wanted Damien to want it, too. He wanted them to want it together, all the time, every day, every hour.

And they could; really, they could. He could see it, and he felt his chest start to tighten, his heart fluttering like a panicked butterfly trapt within the cage of his ribs. Right now, he wanted it. He wanted it so badly, and he could have it. It was right within his reach, all he had to do was-

"Damien," he whispered, voice unnaturally low, almost choked, throat dry. When he got no response, he moved his head to the side. "Damien." He squirmed restlessly, then grabbed one of his arms and shook it. "Damien!"

He waited for what felt like hours before he got an almost too-quiet 'Hm?'. He wasn't certain Damien was with him at all, but he hurried on ahead anyway.

"Damien, I. We. Damien, I have to ask you something, and it's important and I just really need you to listen, okay?"

He didn't get a response this time, and he made a noise of frustration, shaking him yet again.

"Mmmm, 'kay." His voice sounded raw and unused. So tired.

"Okay? Yeah?" Grayson beamed, but he suddenly felt very vulnerable. Nervous. "Look, c-could we be happy? Us? As in... together? I mean, I-I think we could be?" He sounded almost panicked himself now. Damien wasn't saying anything, and he was almost too nervous to wait for an answer. "I think we should try," he rushed out, sounding out of breath, which may or may not have a little something to do with Damien still lying on top of him. "We really should. We could go out tomorrow, make it official, yeah?"

And then he held his breath. His chest was starting to hurt, and he feebly gave Damien yet another shake. He felt Damien's fingers fist into his shirt, and then a sigh. He... didn't know how to feel. He was disappointed, extremely so, and suddenly very sad. He blinked furiously, arms encircling Damien in an almost possessive way. Regardless of whether he actually heard him or not, he was his. His eyes burned and he felt no shame when he felt wetness in his eyes.

He pressed his lips to Damien's forehead, his nose, and then his lips, and he snuggled down into him again. It was okay, let him sleep. Tomorrow's another day. He could ask him again, but for now, he could enjoy what was undoubtedly going to be one hell of a sleep.


End file.
